Beginnings
by XlinzX
Summary: Faustina Collari, Thief. The title fits her more than her name, but it wasn't always so. Once, she was a sister. A glimpse into how she came to owe Cesare Borgia everything. Rated for language, one-shot.


The ale tasted like piss and bath water, but it was ale nonetheless. She grimaced, setting the tankard down with too much force. _This is for you_, fratello, _this is for you._

Nine years.

_ "Come, Faustina, let us see what the fat man keeps in his bags."_

Eleven months.

_"It will be fine,_ sorella,_ I made a promise, remember?"_ _he spins the scissor blade on one finger, grinning. He is well today; the darkness is not on him. Faustina thanks God for that; he has been lost too many days._

Thirty days.

_ He runs across the rooftop, and Faustina has to scramble to catch up to him. "Carlo," she says, "Carlo, wait for me."_

Twenty-three hours.

She took another sip, one finger running over her own scissor half. It was sharp, as it should have been, as it had been since the day she had taken it.

_ "What have you there?" his voice is not accusatory, merely curious. Faustina slowly pulls out the wrapped bundle, afraid to look her brother in the face._

_ "I-I found it.."_

_ He takes the bundle, and slowly unwraps the silver scissors. The light dances off the rubies on the hilt, casting a strange, hungry look onto her brother's face. _

_ "Where did you find them?" his voice is soft, but she hears the inflection on 'find'._

_ "The woman wasn't using them..." her own seven year old voice seems tiny compared to his, though it lacks the shake she presumed would be in it._

_ Carlo looked at her, through the hair falling into his eyes. She cannot tell what he is thinking; but he has not hit her yet, so maybe it was not a bad idea. The blade had seemed so irresistible, it practically sang to her. The woman hadn't been using them at the time, like she had said. She had set them down in between cuts on a pair of pants. Besides, she had three more pairs in her box; Faustina had seen them when she opened it to see what it held._

_ "Well then, _sorella_, it appears you have done something right, for a change." he smiles, and Faustina can feel the tension dissipate. Carlo offers her a handle, but holds the other firmly. "When I say so, push in as hard as you can."_

_ She gives him a strange look, "But why?"_

_ "Push now." he says, ignoring the question._

_ Faustina pushes in, and Carlo pushes in, and there is a snapping noise, and suddenly the scissors are in two. She looks at her half, eyes wide. It makes a dangerously sharp weapon, she realizes, the ten inch blade looking less like a tool for cutting fabric, and more like something she has seen worn on a hip of a guard._

_ "Now, Faustina, by breaking these scissors with me, you have sworn you will protect me, and I, you. Do you understand?" Carlo has already hidden his blade somewhere, where it will stay, invisible, until he has need of it._

_ Faustina nods solemnly, taking her brother's meaning. He will keep her safe, she understands, and in turn, she will make sure he stays alive to do so._

The door to the tavern opened, and she watched an off-duty guard saunter in. This was clearly not his first drink of the night, judging by the flushed cheeks and slight slur as he announced his presence.

"I'll take a shot o' rum, and make it quick."

Faustina instinctively felt for her blade, giving the guard an uneasy look. Her last run in with the Templar Guards had ended with one of them missing half a finger, and she wasn't about to repeat that episode. Borgia hadn't been too happy with the maiming of his men.

The guard cast a glance through the tavern, skimming over Faustina without so much as a look of recognition. He crossed the room, walking heavily, and sank onto a barstool beside some merchant. The merchant gave him a frightened look, before quickly moved over a stool, almost upsetting his tankard. As the guard sat, he removed his outer cloak with a small flourish, revealing the cause of his gait - underneath he wore a full set of exquisite gilded armor, marking him not as a guard, but as a knight.

The knight pounded the bar with a mailed fist - it was obvious now, Faustina wondered how she'd missed it before - and shouted his order again. The barman hurried to fill it, keeping one eye over his shoulder, as he turned his back to retrieve the bottle. Faustina pitied the man, if only he knew that the big loud ones were usually the stupidest. It was the quiet ones you had to watch for.

_"What have you done, you stupid slut?" his voice is slurred, and his breath stinks of ale. Faustina looks at the broken bottle, the amber liquid seeping out into the dirt. She is scared, and he knows it. He takes a step forward, using his height to intimidate her. She tries to meet his gaze, to talk to the little bit of humanity left in him, but she can't raise her eyes high enough. They stop somewhere around his chin, the chin that he says looks like their mother's. _

_ She doesn't remember her mother, but Carlo used to tell her stories. She wasn't sure if half of them were true, but they used to make her feel better, at least for a little. That was before, though. Before he met the other boys, and learned words like 'slut', 'bitch' and '_puttana' _Before the darkness took him. Now he spends his evenings in bars with the other boys, stealing when he runs out of coin. She has tried to bring him home on several occasions, but he mostly laughs at her, and pushes her other boys call her names, try to slip their hands where they should not go. Her brother once told her to kill anyone who tried to touch her there. Now he laughs with them, as she turns red and struggles to get away. Tonight was different, though. Tonight he brought them home with him, saying that they will stay the night. Faustina pleads with him, tells him that the boys cannot stay, where will they sleep? He grows angry at that, though, and drops the bottle._

_ "What have you done?" Carlo asks again, dropping his voice to a rumble. She doesn't answer, knowing the futility, and prepares for him to hit her. That came with the darkness too. He always apologizes after, once he has slept off the alcohol and the darkness leaves, but it never makes a difference. _

_ She braces herself, but the blow never comes. Instead, Carlo backs off, and gives her a strange smile. _

_ "Run _sorellina, _run before I decide to hurt you."_

_ Faustina doesn't stay long enough to see if he would._

The knight yelled something else, and Faustina decided that she had enough. She set her half empty tankard down, and took her leave, sneaking out the door behind a fat farmer. The barman wouldn't even remember she was there.

Outside, the streets were quiet for a market day. The sun's dying glow was barely visible behind a row of squat buildings, giving them an eerie, haloed appearance. She had made good time, then. Borgia had wanted to meet her as the stars appeared, and it looked like she would be right on time. She picked her way through the crowd, keeping to shadows when she could, and her head down when she couldn't.

The _Basilica di San Pietro _courtyard was empty when she arrived. The first star was just beginning to twinkle, off to the left of the great tower, and as she waited, more appeared. She was growing impatient, when she heard footsteps behind her.

_The lock is stuck, and will not open. She jerks on the window, cursing silently. It gives slightly, but does not break. It is old, and slightly rusted, but requires a stronger hand to pull. She considers giving up, but she can see the gold and jewels glinting just on the other side of the window, just out of her reach. Leaving her lock picks in the tumblers, she climbs to the roof, and begins to test the tiles. Precious minutes pass before she finds one loose enough to pull up, digging her fingers into the tiny cracks between the tiles. She finally grabs ahold of one, and hefts it with one hand, the other straining to keep her balance. Faustina knows that one false step will land her, broken, on the cobblestone road thirty feet below._

_ She creeps to the edge of the roof, and carefully climbs back to the window, much slower now that she only has one hand. The red stone is heavy and awkwardly shaped, but she manages to make it down, only missing her footing once. She examines the lock again, and confident in her decision, chucks the tile back onto the roof. In the resounding crash, she pulls on the window. With a bang, the window comes free. _

_ Faustina waits until she is sure the room is empty, before stepping inside. It is dark, the only light the moon's glow as it streams in through the open window. She swallows a chuckle; this is too easy. The jewels glint dimly in the moonlight, and as she reaches to take them, she hears the door open behind her._

_ There is no time to hide anywhere; instead Faustina draws her scissor blade, and prepares to fight her way out. It is not the easiest way to leave, of course, and she would prefer to run, but the door lies between her and the open window. _

_ "That was a clever trick, dropping the brick like that. Had I not seen you staking out my house three days ago, I would have fallen for it." The figure in the doorway is tall, dressed in a faintly floral looking nightgown, but armed. He held a sword loosely, but like he knew how to use it. Faustina realizes she should have run when she had the chance._

_ Instead she firms her grip on her blade, and decides to take her time. She would not make it far, if she chose to run now. _

_ "If you knew of me three days ago, why did you not change your locks?" It is a silly question, but will buy her time well enough._

_ "I figured that if you made it this far, perhaps you could be of some use." The figure steps into the room, as he speaks, gesturing openly with his hands, _

_ It is not at all what she expects him to say. "I do not understand."_

_ "Perhaps I should make it clearer. I believe a - " the man pauses, searching for words._

_ "I am a thief, and I should be called such." Faustina says, with a small flourish of her hand._

_ "As you wish." The man continues, "I believe a _ladro_ of your skill might be of use someday."_

_ It is Faustina's turn to pause. She takes in this man, regal despite his nightgown, and somehow all the more threatening for it._

_ "And if I should refuse to enter your service? A thief is no _assassino, _to take contracts so easily."_

_ The man chuckles, "My dear, you lost your chance to bargain when you picked a Borgia house to rob. You shall enter my service, or you shall die."_

Cesare Borgia was a handsome man, that much could not be denied. He kept his hair shoulder length and feathered, and his beard was neatly trimmed. He walked with grace, despite the armor he wore, a stark contrast with the clanking of the knight at the tavern.

"Faustina," he smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, "How nice of you to meet me here."

"What do you want, Borgia?" There has been no softening of the tension between the pair since the man threatened to kill her.

"Temper, temper." he chides, "I have a job for you, one I believe will be impossible to resist."

_"Come, Faustina, let us see what the fat man keeps in his bags." Carlo runs across the rooftops, leaving Faustina in the dust._

_ "Carlo, Carlo, wait for me." Faustina says, as she hurries behind him. _

_ The fat man is unsuspecting of any visitors from above. He turns a corner, whistling softly to himself. The tune is soft, but bounces off the alley walls, reaching the sibling's ears. Faustina recognizes the piece, but cannot place where. She is still thinking of it, when Carlo drops off the roof, and in front of the man._

_ The man starts, but does not appear afraid._

_ "Out of my way, boy." he says, gesturing with sausage-like fingers. Rings are squeezed onto them like the knot of a casing, separating the links from the hand. _

_ Carlo gives him a lazy smile, "I think not, _signore,_ not until you show what you keep in your bags."_

_ The man glares, but doesn't seem too concerned, "I ask you again, _ragazzo, _out of my way." the man draws a small dagger from the folds of his cloak, and holds it in front._

_ The song is still mesmerizing Faustina, as she watches what is happening. She knows she ought to jump down and help, but something holds her back. Perhaps it is the blade, perhaps it is a long forgotten memory of a woman, holding her, and singing softly, perhaps it is simply that she is scared to jump. The events unfold in front of her like a puppet show, in a surreal kind of haze._

_ Carlo takes a step forward, drawing his own scissor half. The fat man seems amused at first, but quickly turns serious, when Carlo again advances. Faustina realizes that things are not going according to plan; the man was not supposed to be armed. She scoots closer to the edge of the roof, drawing her own blade in anticipation._

_ The fat man moves surprisingly quickly for one of his mass, swiping his dagger as Carlo, cocky in his skill, oversteps. There is a yell, and then the fat man is running out of the alley, and her brother is lying in the dirt._

_ With a wordless cry, Faustina launches herself off the rooftop, landing cat-like feet from where her brother lies. She turns him over, swallowing bile as his belly is revealed, torn and bloody._

_ Carlo groans, coughing up blood, "Why-why did you not come?"_

_ Faustina freezes for a moment, then ignores the question, "It will be okay, _fratello,_ it will be okay." she says, as she rips her jacket into a bandage. _

_ His hand reaches for her, and grips her arm, "Why did you not come when you saw he had _un pugnale?"

_She looks at his face, and sees his eyes, though cloudy, darken. She moves to get away, even as he pulls on her to stand. The blood quickly soaks through the makeshift bandage, but he stands and glares._

_ "I-I...did not think..."_

_ Carlo coughs again, spitting up blood and phlegm, "No, you did not think, did you? You never think, you _piccola puttana_, you little whore."_

_ Faustina takes a step back, putting her hands in front of her. _

_ "Carlo..." she says, "Carlo, please, you mustn't move so. We need a _dottore, _he will help us."_

_ "Fool, a _dottore_ will not help us. We have no money, and they require money to do anything. This is your fault. This would not have happened if you had come when you should have." he is raving now, and Faustina begins to fear again._

_ "N-no..."_

_ He lunges suddenly, and Faustina sees the glint of his blade. She can no longer think, and instead lets her instincts take over. Dropping down, she pulls her own scissor blade, raising it to protect her face._

_ There is another cry, this one cut short in a spray of blood. Faustina feels her brother fall heavily on top of her. _

_ "Faustina..." he says, once more, before the darkness, and then the light fades from his eyes._

"So you wish me to steal this man's precious artifact? One that he keeps on his person at all times?"

"That is correct." Borgia says, "And for it, you will receive one hundred thousand florins."

Faustina thinks for a moment, then pulls her cap tight against her head. She spins her scissor blade around one finger, then tucks it away just as fast.

"Consider it stolen, _signore."_

_**I wrote this about a year and a half ago, but it still stands as how I see Faustina's childhood. She's such a blank slate, it's fun to create her into what I want. Fun fact - the Thief and the Officer are the only Templar character's not mentioned as being killed in either Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood or in the Facebook game Project Legacy. Expect to see more Faustina from me in the future. Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a review!**_


End file.
